


Quicker Than Fast

by Sitical



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fast & Furious AU, Fast boys, Hot Cars, Kinda, Street Racing, shit tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-20 02:25:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sitical/pseuds/Sitical
Summary: Damen figured his visit to the USA would be casual. Strictly business. But all it takes is once to feel the speed beneath the pedals, background blurred all around you, the sounds of the engine hammering, the smell of Nitros burning within, the screeching of tires. And you're hooked.





	1. Name

**Author's Note:**

> So, I read a really good F&F AU, and I was reminded that for so many years, I've been wanting to write one. So here I am, gonna write one. I'm not quite sure how long it'll be, but I'll try and make it worth the time <3  
> Happy Reading!

He met him on Hollywood Boulevard at a red light in early spring. All blonde hair and pale skin, blue eyes glittering in the sun, laid back in the driver’s seat of his convertible. He had sunglasses on, but they were acting merely as a way to keep his hair back. A beauty befitting the elaborate sports car he currently sat in. Damen had mistaken him for a model, maybe an actor. He held such beauty standards that were common for the area.

Beauty, it seemed, did not deter the need for a little more than the normal friction under the tires. The blonde glanced over, smirking at him with his shiny fully lips while he revved the engine, the roar of the Lambo rumbling the asphalt below.

Damen was new in town, having recently come from his birth home in Greece to do some overseas work for his father. Said father was rather wealthy, and since Damen was the prize child, he got anything he wanted. Including the brand new Bugatti he was cruising around Los Angeles. He revved back, challenging him.

The blonde looked back at the light, the clutch released, brake pressed. The squealing of tires screamed loudly over the sounds of the busy LA crowds. Damen took the hint and was ready to do the same, but out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the ever familiar and daunting presence of a cop car just coming to a stop to the red light. Red and blue lights are flicked on.

Before the cop or anyone else could make a move, Laurent blasted off like a rocket down the road at the green light. The cop immediately sped off after, and Damen could only watch from a distance as the two cars took a drifting curve around a corner down the way. His heart was beating fast.

Within the week he was on the move again, heading to Arizona with the certainty he'd never see that blond again. He was wrong, however.

The bright streets of nighttime Reno were booming with life. Virginia Street was the place to be, with its heavily populate pedestrian walks going from Casino to Casino. It was no Las Vegas, that much was for sure, but it was still a very busy city when the Casino lights were turned on. 

Damen was merely cruising the city, as he had been that day in Los Angeles, taking in the dim scenery from tinted windows of his car. Getting out from his hotel parking lot and off of the busier streets had taken much time, and he just wanted to drive. 

When he finally reached some far emptier streets, he took to just a slow rolling down each road, taking an occasional turn, daring himself to get lost on these unfamiliar roads. Around an hour of random turns, it seemed as if he indeed had gotten lost. And instead of relying on the car’s GPS, he tried to figure his own way back. 

This was how he stumbled upon a large group of people on one of the many deserted streets, the sound of roaring engines just barely heard through his nearly soundproofed car. What was going on, he wondered, looking over the crowd from his safe distance down the road. 

“A street race?” He pondered to himself before pulling over. It was stupid to get out on a random street in a foreign country and step into an unfamiliar crowd, but his curiosity was getting the best of him. He wanted to know.

As soon as his car door opened, the smell of hot engines and burnt rubber wafted in and invade his nostrils, his eyes rolling back a little bit. It smelt like heaven to anyone that loved a good race. To him, it was nostalgia, bringing him back to all those times his father had him in their garage, teaching him the ins-and-outs of cars. Race cars to be more precise. He made his way over to the crowd, hands in his pockets, acting like he belonged there. Like he wasn’t some foreign city boy just wanting a glimpse of the raw action roaring to life in the streets of Reno.

Upon coming closer, he caught small peek at the cars through the crowds. There were four racers lined up just behind the lines of a crosswalk, some with hoods open and people fussing around underneath them. He came at a good time it seemed, plenty of time to take a gander at the cars themselves.

Drift cars were usually flashy, with their bright colors, designs, and underglow. The tint of the windows was typically dark enough that one could not see inside, as most of these were, except for one. The car without tint was nothing special. And old beat up hunk of junk that looked like it was better suited in the scrapyard than on the street. He wondered just what the hell was under the hood that made the driver think to join the lineup. The car also didn’t have anyone messing around with the engine, or anyone inside of the car itself. 

His eyes shifted back to the other three cars. Two of them were older Hondas, suped up with elaborate paint jobs, fancy rims and matching underglow with the paint colors. The third car was slightly new, likely an early 2010’s Subaru. Damen didn’t care for the years or types of the cars. He just wanted to see what they could do. 

Hoods were being shut, drivers entering their cars, engines being started, and yet there was still no sign of the fourth mystery driver. He wondered if anyone else knew who the driver of the hooptie, or if truly was unknown who it belonged to. Maybe someone brought it and left it as a joke?

All of the engines except the scrapper’s was started, a lone man standing out in front of them, likely waiting to wave them off to start. It was maybe a half minute before slender, decently tall blonde made their way through the crowd and came up to old hunk-o-junk and got inside of it. Damen felt like he knew who it was, though that was completely preposterous. How would he know someone in this area? In this country even? Not possible.

The little rust bucket took a couple tries before it finally sputtered to life, people in the crowd dying of laughter. It indeed was laughable. What fool thought this thing would have a chance. It had to be a joke now. 

The man standing in front of the cars got a thumbs up from each car before he nodded and walked to the side of the road where he wouldn’t be hit. The gathered crowd went silent, nothing but the sounds of rumbling engines, and the occasional pathetic popping from the junker car. 

When the man raised his arm, something unexpected happened. The barely running piece of shit on wheels suddenly had the sound of an ignition turning, then the sound of a massive engine roaring to life, dwarfing the now miniscule drifter cars. It was enough power to shake the little car completely, rumbling the ground. 

There was no time for gawking because when the man's arm dropped, the little rusted car was gone in a second, blazing down the road. The other three cars hardly had a chance, practically putting along compared to the metal squealing down the road.

Damen was thoroughly impressed. The car was far from a looker, and it was taking advantage of its dingy looks to take others by surprise. Damen supposed that the original crappy sounds coming from the putter had been merely speakers, prerecorded to go off and throw the rest of the drivers off. Or something of that sort. Either way, he wanted to meet that sly blonde, ask him what dirty tricks he had to use to get this far. 

Damen realized the crowds had gathered around other vehicles and into groups in the streets, and it left him slightly confused. He figured though that the cars probably had live feed Go-Pros on them, so no one would miss a second of the races. He got close enough to see through a back window and confirm that much. Since he was not familiar crowds, he merely leaned on the stop sign nearby and waited casually to see who the winner was.

Hardly five minutes passed before the sounds of a familiar engine came roaring around the corner, drifting so effortlessly before righting itself. The crowds turned back to watch and cheer on as the first car sped by in a blur, and with utmost control, the car came to a screeching halt just down the road. It was the little hooptie, which surprisingly hadn’t fallen apart from the strain put on its frame.

The engine shut off and the driver’s door slammed open, a ghastly creak and then a crunch, followed by metal hitting asphalt was heard from a good distance. Damen saw the tall blonde get out and look down at the ground before continuing to walk back over to the crowds, likely to collect his winnings.

The other cars had crossed the finish line and had parked by the time he got there, one of the drivers getting out and throwing a huge fit, crying about how that dirty blonde bitch cheated. Laurent was taking his winnings from the man that had started them. What it looked like was pink slips and some cash. Damen was rather amused and wondered just how he was going to get any of these cars anywhere, as it didn’t seem like he had a posse like the other drivers did. He had no group surrounding him, patting his back in congratulations or going to collect keys.

Now that Damen was closer, he got to really look at the blonde now, taking his features. Long blonde hair flowed over broad shoulders and framed a perfectly sculpted face. He was thin, but not overly so. All in all, he was very attractive, at least as much as he thought he could be under a dim streetlamp.

A commotion where the man bitching about the blonde having cheated had him tearing his gaze from the man. The pissed off, likely gangbanger, was storming his way over to the blonde, who had his back to him and had no idea. A glint in the man's hand was all Damen needed to react. He moved quickly, pushing off of the stop sign and practically running over to the blonde.

“Hey! Turn around! Gun!” Damen shouted. The man with the gun lifted it up, pointing it right at the blonde. Cocking it quickly, he fired, just as Damen crashed right into the blonde, knocking him to the ground. One bullet whizzed past, but a second and third grazed and hit flesh. 

The sound was deafening, pain excruciating, but Damen tried not to think about it. More gunshots were heard, but he didn’t know where from, or where they were aimed. The only thing he thought to do was to grab the blonde man, who was likely still going to be a target and began running him back down the street to his car. 

Everything was blur until he’d gotten them far enough from the scene and was able to park somewhere inconspicuous. Damen sat there, hand still gripping the wheel tightly, eyes wide, body lightly shuttering.

“You’re bleeding.” Came a calm, silky voice beside him. Turning his head, he looked at the slightly disheveled blonde man, barely able to see him with how little light there was where he’d parked. The only true light came from his stereo display, leaving them both in a blue luminescent glow.

Thin fingers reached over, gently sliding over his bicep. And just like that, the pain hit him, white-hot, excruciating pain that he tried to subside by biting his lip and gripping the steering wheel. He let out a pained grunt in response.

“We need to clean this. Scoot over, I’ll drive. You don’t look too good.” Said the man. Damen was in no shape to argue and he did his best to move over before the other came around the car to get into the driver's seat. He realized there was even more pain while he moved, far worse than his arm, on his side. Likely another bullet wound. 

Sitting in the passenger seat, Damen did his best not to panic. He literally had just gotten shot in a foreign country, just trying to save some stranger. Honestly, what the hell had he been thinking? He should have shouted at him and left it at that. He should have run away, not directly into the line of fire.

The ride was a blur, the man racing him to go knows where, pulling into a driveway, then into a garage. The lights were flicked on and the man turned to him.

“Get out. You look like shit. Did you get hit anywhere else?” The man asked, a blonde brow raised while his eyes scanned over him. He seemed to zone in on Damen’s bloody hand on his side, eyes widening.

“Come on, come on, we need to make sure it went all the way through.” The man got out quickly, coming around to help Damen out, practically pushing him onto a leather couch as soon as he got him over there. A large first aid kit was pulled down from a shelf in the corner of the garage and was opened, thin fingers carefully selecting the instruments needed.

Damen stared at the back of a blonde head, still feeling strange about the man. Like he knew him. There just was no way though. It seemed however, he was wrong when he finally got a good look at the other male when he leaned over to look at his side.

“I know you…” Damen said before groaning from the pain of gentle prodding. Blue eyes glanced up at him before back down to slightly gaping wound. The pain was nearly unbearable for the next full minute while the other dug around with tweezers. Eventually, a small bullet was recovered and dropped into a small dish. Then came the agonizing stitches. Damen had to admit though, this man's hands were steady.

“How do you know me. Who are you? A cop? Why were you there? I’ve never seen you before. You’ll regret having done anything so stupid if you start acting fishy.” The man bombarded him before placing gauze over the wound, then wrapped it tightly. A pat was placed over the heavily padded spot before he moved onto his arm.

“No, I'm no fucking cop...i just happened upon you guys...You realize it's hard to miss such a massive crowd in the street right?” Damen was a little skeptical of the man now. Was he a criminal? Well, he certainly wasn’t doing anything legal, so it was possible. But how could someone so beautiful be a criminal? He could’ve been doing so much more. Damen had to stop himself, however. He didn’t know this man’s life.

“In LA...i saw you. You were in a Lambo...a red one. A cop came before I got to race you.” Damen explained, making a face at the stinging pain he felt now in his arm. 

“Wasn’t me.” The blonde replied, not even looking up from his work.

“It to be, there's no way it wasn’t.” Damen insisted.

“There are millions of blondes in the world. It could’ve been anyone.”

“So, what? You got a twin? A doppelganger? And you just happen to own the same neon pink fuzzy dice as them too?” Damen had been referring to the pink dice he saw in the old rust bucket car.

“Coincidence.”

“Really.” Damen was a little frustrated, but he decided to let it subside.

“Thanks by the way...for jumping in and taking the shots. I’m indebted to you.” The blonde suddenly said, looking him in the eye after tying off his arm with bandages. “Is there something you want? Something reasonable of course.”

Damen stared back, just knowing these were the same blue eyes that had his heart hammering in his chest just a week before.

“Your name…” Damen declared, eyes never leaving the others. But the blonde stood, breaking the gaze.

“No.” Was the only answer he got before the man walked off, putting the first aid kit back.

“Fine...then a race. Just you and me. If I win...I want your name.” Damen fumbled, trying to find something about the man. Anything. He was a complete mystery and turning out to be very difficult. Damen liked a challenge. And it seemed that with the offer he’d given, the other man's sparked interest meant he did too.

“Alright. But if I win, I get your car. And you walk out empty-handed.” The blonde was electric with amusement with this placed bet. 

“Fine. Do we need to go back for your clunker or…?” Damen knew he probably shouldn’t be driving, but this was his only shot. He just had to win.

“I’ve got a backup I can borrow.” Walking over to a vehicle with a car cover over it, the blonde whipped the fabric away, revealing an absolute masterpiece of a car. A 1970 Dodge Charger sat, pristine black paint looking completely untouched. Damen admired the car for all that it was worth, eyes wide, mouth gaping a bit.

“Holy shit...what the hell is under the hood of that thing.”

“More horses than your cute little hooptie has got.” The blonde said before going and opening the garage once more. He hopped into the car as Damen stood, still gawking at the beauty of it. But it was when the engine was ignited and the motor began running did Damen feel like he could come in his pants right then and there. It was full circle beauty.

“God damn…” Damen breathed. The blonde began backing out, leaving Damen to close the garage door and go to his own car. The Dodge sat perfectly on the road ahead of him, engine purring like the black panther it was. An absolute beast made to eat it’s opponent alive. And the smell of that exhaust was enough to lull him to sleep. His chances of winning were slim against that car. He’d never know that blondes name now. 

Damen pulled up beside the Charger, rolling down the window to let the other specify what they were doing.

“Alright, you see that dead end over there? We race there and back. Whoever passes this mailbox first wins.”

“Alright then, babe. Let’s go.” Damen was ready to go. He had no doubts about his driving ability, but when it came to the car, he wasn’t sure if this Bugatti would handle the hell he was going to put it through.

The blonde held up three fingers for signal, Damen watching out the corner of his eye as he counted down. When the final finger fell, tires screech, gears shifted, engines pushed. In a puff of dirt and tire dust, they were gone. 

Damen shifted perfectly each and every time, and yet the blonde was still pulling ahead of him quicker than he could have imagined. The world became a blur around them as they sped down an almost empty street, loud roaring from the engines echoing off the closed and empty buildings around them. It was a thrill, flying down a normally busy city street at almost 90 miles an hour and still pushing.

The end of the street came quick, and Damen was just far enough back that he got to see first hand the Charger whipping around in a perfectly executed drifting u-turn. He could see long blonde hair flowing over the seat, a stoic face breeze by him. Then it was his turn. He E-braked it around in a U-turn before racing off after the other. Though it was obvious, Damen already lost. 

He had no chance. Not without Nitros at least, which he did not yet have installed. He never will now as the Charger passed the mailbox and went screeching around in another u-turn before parking. Damen came to a slow, parking front end to front end before getting in.

“Goddamn, that was...one hell of a ride. How the hell…” Damen started, but the blonde held out his hand for the keys. Damen could only sigh and hand them over as promised.

“No questions. Now scram. Our deal here is done.”

That was it? Damen couldn’t just leave it at that. But there was nothing more he could do, so he did. Seemed like he’d be walking and trying to figure out how to get back to the hotel.

“Well...alright then. I...I guess I’ll see you around?” Damen tried before walking off.

“Nope.” The blonde was already getting back into the Charger to go park it back in the garage. The conversation was done and Damen could only sigh before he began his long trek back.

✙ ✙ ✙ ✙ 

It seemed the two were just bound to meet again. This time, Damen was pulling into a diner parking lot, and he happened to spot a very familiar midnight blue Bugatti parked just around the side of the building. 

Damen parked towards the back, then headed inside, looking around slowly for a familiar head of straw-colored hair. It takes long before finding just what he’d been looking for. Though, the blonde was not alone. A man was in front of him, roguishly handsome with his sharp, charming facial structure, goatee, and stylishly messy hair. 

Damen wondered for a brief moment who he was, then the hostess interrupted his thoughts to seat him. He nearly groaned aloud when he was seated dangerously close to the pair, sitting in the corner, facing away from the blonde. If he’d even realize he was here, who knew? Damen just picked up his menu and pretended not to notice, though he found himself staring at the windows, catching a reflection of a handsome face with eyes so blue, even the reflection itself had a tint of its color in it.

A while passed, Damen ordered his meal, and he was now merely sitting there, sipping at his soda absentmindedly. A flick at his temple, however, had him whipping his head towards the attacker, eyes as wide as an alerted doe. He relaxed though when he realized it was the pretty blonde man.

“Are you following me.” The man asked, his arms crossed, a brow raised. Damen could only stare on into those beautiful blue eyes in awe, just a little starstruck by their brilliant colors and poisonous gaze.

“Uh...No. I just came to eat. What, a man can’t eat?” Damen asked, leaned back in his seat, arms resting overtop the back of it in a very relaxed manner. The blonde only groaned before he moved to sit in the seat across from him, leaning on the table with his forearms.

“Typically, a man doesn’t go far from his hotel if he does not own a car.” The waitress came back with Damen’s drink, and the blonde took this as his chance to order himself a milkshake. With sprinkles. There had to be sprinkles. Damen chuckled just a bit at this, earning him another glare from the other. “So, what will you do now without a car?”

“What do you mean? I’ve got a car.” Damen replies, taking a little sip of his soda as he stared at the man across from him.

“Not since last night you haven’t.” The blonde retorted. “I don’t plan on giving it back.”

“I’ve had one since this morning. And I don’t expect you to. You won it fair and square. It was our deal.”The blonde seemed a little put off by this as he gave him a small confused look. The look was gone quicker than it came.

“Oh, I see. You’re fucking loaded, aren’t you? Must’ve been nothing to you to lose it. Probably why you lost. You had nothing to lose. It’s like a dropped penny on the ground, isn’t it? Huh. Must be nice to just blow money without a second thought. That watch probably costs more than all of my garages combined.” The man had said, eyeballing the very expensive looking watch on his wrist.

“Maybe, maybe not. Anyways, it didn’t come without cost. It’s my dad’s money. He sent me here, with my new car. So it’s really his money.”

“Soon to be yours, I’d presume?” Damen raised a brow slightly as he watched the waitress placed Laurent’s milkshake before him. 

“Well, anyways, you probably don’t want common street scum taking up your time. I’ll put this on your tab by the way. Thanks.” The blonde then stood up, milkshake in hand as he turned and began to leave.

“Wait,” Damen said, turning, ready to get up. The man turned on his heels, looking expectantly at him.

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to go,” said Damen, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, but I’m busy anyways so…”

“Then your name.” The man once more raised his brow at the asking for his name. He didn’t say anything, but Damen could see it deep in his eyes. He was considering it. “I want to see you again.”

“Tonight. Clove street. Be there, and be ready to lose another car.”

Finally.

“You betcha.”


	2. Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damen is willing to give it all up for another taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I don't know why this chapter was so hard for me to write, but I'm glad to finally have it done. I hope the next won't be so difficult.

Damen didn’t miss the opportunity. He figured out where Clove Street was. It was an industrial street that would have been completely dead of life. Only now, on this particular night, it was lined up and packed to the brim with cars, trucks, SUVs, and well, just about any kind of vehicle one could think of. 

It seemed that there were multiple ‘activities’ taking place at this location, as he could see many groups of people surrounding different spots. Damen could’ve easily guessed that where a massive amount of smoke was wafting out from was likely a drifting circle. The other spot he was a bit skeptical about what it could have been, but it did not keep his attention. The sound of engines roaring at the end of the street was what had him heading that way. 

This spot was so packed, Damen had to squeeze his way to the front, and when he finally got there, he caught the tail end of the start sequence, cars blazing off towards the end of the street. The rush of air, the smell of the exhausts had him feeling like he was high.

Looking around, he tried to catch a glimpse of yellow hair anywhere in the crowds. When he didn’t find that particular blonde, he figured that the man had yet to arrive. Fashionably late, as he’d been last time. Or maybe he was being stood up. Who knew. But at least he got to get a show out of it.

A bump at his side had him looking over, getting an eyeful of blonde hair. It wasn’t the kind he was seeking just minutes before, but it was still nice. It was long, curled and beautiful. The face to go with it was just as stunning, and Damen could feel himself smiling just the slightest.

“Hey, stud. I’ve never seen you here before. You new?” The woman asked, a perfectly drawn on eyebrow raised in question.

“Er...Yeah. I am actually. You must know everyone here to know that.”

“Of course I do. What kind of Street racing woman would I be if I didn’t know everyone.” Damen felt great attraction towards her. Not only was she totally his type, she loved racing. 

“Well, I’m Damen then. New to the area. At least for now.”

They stood there, watching the race finish, then another startup. Damen found out her name was Jokaste, and she wasn’t actually from Reno. She was here with her group, which had come all the way from Brazil. They were, in a way, caravaning from South to North America, meeting up with other drivers and having massive shows just like this one. It’d never been done before, and from what he heard, was quite the experience.

Damen was greatly intrigued by this fact, but the thoughts were put aside when he finally spotted a familiar vehicle pull up to the start line. A midnight blue Bugatti, now with a beautiful blue and gold underglow, blue flames coming from the exhaust pipes. He was also really coming to admire the golden foil starburst on the corner of the hood.

The driver got out once the car was at the starting line, a stream of long golden hair was flowing in the gentle Arizona breeze. The man looked directly at Damen, a little smirk on his full lips.

“I see you actually showed up. And you’ve acquainted yourself quite well. You ready to lose everything?” The man yelled to Damen, eyebrows raised.

“More like I’ve come to take my car back. You’ve really suped it up,” said Damen, taking a look over the car before back to the blonde man.

“Well, let’s get it on. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Damen didn’t wait. He made his way through the crowd to his new car, driving it over to the start line. People were talking. Not only were they both going to race Bugattis, but they were racing for Pinks. Someone was going home with two Bugatti’s, over 4 million dollars worth of car was at stake. 

Damen rolled his window down, smirking over at the blonde man. “Where to, sweetheart?” He asked, raising his eyebrows flirtatiously.

The man didn’t answer him, only smirked as he used his phone to send something to his car’s GPS. “Ever play Simon Says?” Was all he said before disappearing into his car. Damen felt the adrenaline rush when he realized what the other meant. This was a game. 

The car beside him started up again, engine revving. Jokaste came onto the screen of his GPS, a live video.

“Alright racer’s, we’ll be playing Simon Says. You only do what Simon Says. If he does not say, your place in the race could be a fatal one. Ready?” The countdown from 10 began.

Damen gripped the wheel, engines revving, blood pumping.

3

2

1…

Damen had a feeling when he heard ‘Go’. He did not press the gas, did not move. His feeling had been correct. The car next him didn’t move either. 

A jokers face showed up on his GPS screen after a second and said “SIMON SAYS GO”

Tires squealed on blacktop before gripping and taking off down the road. A glance next to him, he saw that the blonde was right at his side, neck and neck. 

Adrenaline began to flow through his veins when he got the first directions. “SIMON SAYS GO LEFT” He took the first left, drifting perfectly. He had managed to get in front of the other because of the turn. With the pedal to the metal, he waited for the next instruction.

“GO RIGHT.” He did not.

“GO RIGHT” His wheel did not budge, his concentration focused on the instructions.

“SIMON SAYS LEFT THEN A RIGHT.” cranking the wheel, he skidded a little bit as there was water on the ground. It didn’t matter though since he was ahead.

“THROUGH THE ALLEY.” Damen shook his head. “Not today clown.”

“SIMON SAYS THROUGH THE PARK WE GO” Damen snapped to look at the GPS, which showed him where to go, and indeed the green line showed it going directly through a green area up ahead.

He drove on, gritting his teeth a bit when he went up onto the grass by a dip in the sidewalk, scraping the underside of the car a bit. A glance in the mirror, he realized he could not see the blondes car anymore. Perhaps he’d accidentally taken the wrong turn.

His thought was wrong however when he came out the other side of the park, turning right as he was told, and he’d nearly hit a lightless car. Damen realized that it was the blonde man. He turned all of his lights off and was driving in the dark, likely to throw Damen off. Damen only chuckled, feeling the thrill. He did the same, shutting his lights off and using the streetlights to guide him. 

Both were barrelling down streets, screeching around corners, equal matches in speed and ability. But Damen wouldn’t have it. He wanted to be quicker than fast. He wanted to show this blonde babe that he could drive, he had the speed, he had what it took. Damen pushed on harder, taking sharper turns, taking the risk of flipping his car. 

Finally, they were on the homestretch. Just over the bridge was the finish line. He and the blonde were once again neck and neck. But then his heart dropped when he saw that the bridge was starting to lift up, creating something of a ramp.

The blonde was making no move to slow down. In fact, he used his nitrous and blasted off down the road ahead of him. 

Damen took a breath, gripping the wheel tightly with one hand before reaching to his dash to where two red buttons sat, ready. He gulped before pressing them both right at the start of the bridge. Both hands gripped the wheel as he was thrown back into his seat, the world around him blurring into flashes of light and color. The G-force had him feeling just a bit sick, but he held on strong.

He watched the blonde go flying off the bridge just before him. Damen joined right after. The amount of momentum had him flying higher than the blonde, going directly overhead of his car. He was grinning, yelling like a madman, adrenaline in his veins like nitrous in his engine. The land was hard, but he made it.

Speeding off down the road, he flew past the finish line. He had not seen the blonde in front of him, so it meant that he won.

The tires squealed one last time before he came to a complete stop. People were cheering on at the background, likely because of the spectacular stunt pulled. 

Damen got out of his car, the midnight blue Bugatti pulling up beside him. The blonde stepped out, shaking his head a bit before coming around. Keys were tossed to him.

“Good job. You won. I’ve never seen such a driver before…” The man said, a little smirk on his lips as he leaned a hip on the car, arms crossed. 

“No one has ever beat the Cast Iron Bitch.” Jokaste was making her way over, swinging her hips a little too hard for it to be natural. She planted herself right at Damen’s side, practically clinging to his side. Damen caught a glimpse of the blonde man rolling his eyes.

“So...Cast Iron Bitch….” Damen tossed the keys back to the man. “I believe there is one request I’ve been wanting. More than the car.”

He could tell the man was a bit surprised to have to gotten the keys back, but the slight reaction was gone quicker than it came.

“Right...my name.” Damen nodded at this.

“Why that of all things?” Jokaste asked, looking up at Damen.

“Because it’s something harder to get than a car,” Damen said, staring the man in the eyes.The blonde man shook his head as he pushed off the car, heading back around to the driver's side. 

“It’s Laurent,” he said before getting back in the car, starting it back up. The passenger side window rolled down instead of him just driving away, as he would do in normal situations. “You going to gloat in your winnings by yourself, or you gonna come for a proper victory?”

Damen blinked, not having expected the invitation.

“Lead the way...Laurent,” he said with a little grin.

“Don’t wear it out,” said Laurent before rolling up the window, peeling out before taking off down the street.

“Mind if I take a ride with you, big boy?” Jokaste asked, her brow raised.

“Not at all. Hop in.” He had a half grin as he got into the car, taking off as soon as the woman was in.

The ride was filled with Jokaste talking to him about the race, which eventually slipped somehow into an attraction. Jokaste was very much into him, and he would have been lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to her as well. 

Damen had to bite his inner cheek when he felt the woman’s hand on his thigh, sliding up it slowly. He knew where this was going and he was definitely not going to stop it. He continued to drive, sitting relaxed in his seat, his eyelashes fluttering when he finally felt release.

They arrive back at the garage just after he finished, Jokaste opening the door and spitting after she got out. Damen sighed, leaning back for a second, then he got as well, following the two inside. There were other cars already there, parked in any available space.

The party was already going in the garage, two large ice chests full of beer pushed off to a corner, a table set up with a game of beer pong going, music playing. There was a man out the back door barbecuing, and people dancing around.

Everyone seemed to be well acquainted with one another, likely being part of the same gang. Talking ceased however when he came up with Jokaste, eyes on him. A man with long curly hair, skin tanned a lot like his, and features very similar, which had Damen wondering if the man had Greek origins.

“There he is! The first man to beat the Cast Iron Bitch!” The man came up to him, which had everyone else talking once more, but likely more about him. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

Damen raised a brow, taking a better look at the man. Tan skin and long curly hair, as he observed before, but now looked at the features. He had a wide nose, an outward jut in its middle. High cheekbones and a sharp jaw, equally sharp but friendly eyes, reddish brown with flecks of green. A beauty mark just below his left eye--

“No fucking way...Nikandros?” Damen came to a realization. Both grinned before practically throwing themselves at each other to embrace tightly. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it’s you! I haven’t seen you in years, not since you moved Senior year!”

“Yes, I know. I moved to Brazil because of my parents. I haven’t gotten the chance to go back for a visit. But it seems I can postpone longer since you are here!” They were both grinning happily, walking back into the garage.

Nikandros introduced him to everyone in the group. Jord and Orlant were buddy racers, never one without the other, and they vowed to never race against one another. Nicaise was just a teen, not yet old enough for his license, but he still drove quite often. Aimeric was a newer street racer, having only just joined a week before they departed from Brazil. Ancel was something of the group hoe but was also a racer. And then, he knew Jokaste, but he also found out that she was no trophy chick, she raced as well, when she wanted of course.

This was the gang. He heard a little more about their origins, how they all began to group together. A bunch of foreigners that had moved to the area for one reason or another. They all found their way to each other somehow, but all involved racing. The rest of the people that were there were buddies that they had come to know while in the area, coming to celebrate and enjoy their last few days before the gang departed.

Damen had a beer, which turned into two beers, which turned into six. Next thing he knew, he found himself dancing, surrounded by women. Ancel had joined as well. More beer pong was played, Damen losing terribly to a well skilled and lesser drunk Nicaise. Food was eaten, more beer drank. The night went on well. 

Damen went to his car to retire for the night, knowing he couldn't even attempt to drive home. Jokaste followed him. They found themselves wildly removing clothing in the passenger's seat, bodies grinding. 

Damen didn’t remember a whole lot else of what happened that night after his pants came off. All he knew was that he drove back to his hotel in the morning with a killer headache.

Two days passed, and Damen had spent a lot of that time with the group of street racers, just hanging out, talking cars, going to races. Time for them to move on to the next state came too quickly for him. Florida was next on the list, and Damen felt like he had a decision to make. But he realized he made it the second he heard they were leaving.

“Let me go with you.” he’d suddenly said while he was helping to check out the engines of the cars before they left. Damen had already grabbed what he needed most and had it packed in his car. He wanted...no...needed to go.

Nikandros chuckled but gave him a concerned look. “Why? You have your dad’s stuff to take care of. You have a life. Why would you want to…throw it away?”

“I’m not throwing it away. These past four days have been kind of a wake-up call. I want nothing more than to live my life as freely as possible. What you guys have...that’s something I can’t create on my own. I want to go with you. I want this.”

Laurent walked by, likely having heard most of it. Nikandros glanced at him.

“You’ll have to talk to Mr. Boss over there about it. He’s the mastermind behind all of this.” And Damen damn well did. He followed Laurent back to his car.

“Laurent.”

“You’re wearing it thin. What.” 

Damen snorted a bit, shaking his head. “I want to go with you.”

“So I heard.” The man tossed a duffle bag into the back of the old Charger. It seemed he would be driving it and Nikandros would be in the Bugatti. “Do you really think you’ve got the momentum to keep up with us? We stop very little and race a lot. We bet everything. You cannot give up, you cannot lose. You lose your car, you lose everything. You will be stranded.”

Damen nodded. “I won’t lose. And I damn well would never give up. I want this.”

“Positive?”

“I could lose everything right now, and I still could never be more positive.”

“Very well. Hope you’re all packed. We leave now.” And to finalize it, the blonde walked around the car and got in, starting it up, as everyone followed suit. Damen jogged to his car to do the same. In a cloud of black tire smoke, they were gone, bound for Florida.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love? Comment! <3 <3 <3


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